My family is in town this weekend. Yesterday I had breakfast with Mom and one of my dear friends. We started swapping childhood stories about road trips. We talked about the games we used to play (I Spy, License Plate from Every State, Count the VW Bugs). Did anyone else play those?
My brother and I also played "The Cow Game". In this game you got one point for each cow on your side of the car. But if you passed a cemetery on your side, all the cows died and you had to start over. My brother also liked to play the "Hey, Cow!" game. This consisted of yelling out of the window at the cows. You got a point for every cow that looked your way in response.
At the time, my brother and I were usually just concerned about how long it would take to get there. I remember my Mom coming up with a system to help us understand the length of time in our terms. She would say, "It’s only one Mr. Rogers and two Sesame Streets (two and a half hours)."
Years have gone by and a lot has changed, but one thing remains the same from those road trip days. I still often find myself asking, "How long until we get there?" Today that question is usually directed toward God when I get impatient and wish I could skip the journey to wherever He’s taking me.
But years from now I’ll probably look back and say the same thing I do when I think about those long hours spent in that big van with the people I love, "Thank you, God, for every mile we traveled together."
Every family seems to have road trip stories. Every family also seems to have those random family portraits that no one has looked at for twenty years. So here’s me and my road trip posse–Dad, Mom, and little brother Stephen. Look now before they make me take it down.
